


Derek Hale and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Actually Maybe Not Quite So Bad Day

by sapphirescribe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Coming Out, Derek Hale Has A Nice Day, M/M, POV Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wakes from a full night's sleep, feeling well-rested and alert. It's...weird. And then, for once, his day <i>doesn't</i> go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Hale and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Actually Maybe Not Quite So Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuesdaymidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/gifts).



> This is all tuesdaymidnight's fault. I hope you're proud of yourself, tuesday. Thanks, as always, go to motimetostart, donnersun and venis_envy for hand-holding and reassurance.

Derek's alarm goes off at seven, like usual, but for the first time in as long as he can remember, it actually wakes him up. He didn't spend the night tossing and turning, plagued with dreams of fire and pain. He actually feels rested. Huh. Looking out the window, he takes a moment to appreciate the view, for once looking with fresh eyes, rather than ones exhausted from hours of frustration and tension. Downtown Beacon Hills isn't exactly a booming metropolis, but it's still urban. He throws the covers off and moves to the window, taking a few minutes to watch the city wake up.

The coffee maker beeps from the kitchen, indicating the start of its pre-programmed routine and startling Derek from his reflections. He usually needs at least one cup to wake him before his morning run, but today he thinks he might be able to go without. It's a novel feeling.

Isaac makes fun of him for setting an alarm (and a coffee maker) so early when there's no reason to. Derek is technically unemployed, but he likes routine. And as much as all the shit in Beacon Hills goes down after dark, Derek enjoys the sunshine and doesn't want to exist in the night alone.

He has time for a long workout today, so he runs the perimeter of his pack's territory. Between him and his betas, someone runs the boundary at least three times a week, checking for intruders and ensuring there are multiple scents to dissuade others from intruding. The forest is always quiet when he runs, a combination of fear of him as a predator, and the near-constant barrage of attacks Beacon Hills and his pack have been under for the past few years.

With that thought, Derek realizes his pack hasn't had to protect their territory, hunt down a new creature or rogue omega, or had any run-ins with hunters in... two months? That can't be right. Derek slows to a light jog, weaving in and out of the trees, and takes a deep breath. He hasn't smelled anything but the forest and pack for the last thirty minutes since he left downtown. Lost in thought, Derek is surprised to find himself back at the old house another forty minutes later.

He hasn't done anything with the house in the years since the fire--at least he doesn't live there anymore. But maybe it's time. The loft is nice, but it's never really felt like home. Living with Isaac and having the others in and out at all hours of day and night mean that it smells like pack, but it's still surrounded by foreign scents and sounds, so it's not quite right. He's been putting it off for years now because it never felt like the right time. There was always something terrorizing them or something else that was more of a priority, but with the realization that he might actually be sleeping at night and that things have been quiet for months, Derek might be... cautiously optimistic.

Derek lowers himself to the ground, leaning against the tree next to Laura's grave, and contemplates the house.

The whole building will have to be razed. The roof finally caved in about a year ago, but even before that, it wasn't structurally sound and he can smell the mold in the walls and flooring caused by the rain. He hasn't even been inside the house in eight months. It used to hold memories, both good and bad, but it's just a rotting structure now. It's not the home he grew up in, and leaving it like a decaying memorial is just depressing.

 _"It's time."_ He always hears Laura's voice in his head when he needs advice. When he was little the voice of his conscience sounded a lot like his mom, but he got Laura longer than everyone else, and they became especially close after the fire. Sometimes he still comes to her grave when he needs to talk out a problem. It was one of Stiles' better ideas.

"I know, Laur," he whispers.

Recently, Derek's been thinking about another issue he should address. He put his personal life on hold when he got back to Beacon Hills, and, like the house, it was never a priority. He never made it a priority. But maybe he can now.

"I'm gonna go talk to Mom," he tells the nondescript marker on Laura's grave. "Miss you."

\---

Derek doesn't visit his family's graves often. It's still painful, no matter how many years have passed. Sometimes he still feels the phantom pack connections as if they were still around; it's only stronger when he's near them.

The cemetery is quiet, which isn't surprising for a weekday morning, and Derek finds he's immensely thankful, given the conversation he wants to have. He closes his eyes and just listens for a moment, reaching out with his senses to make sure there's no one lurking about to overhear him. He's alone.

"Hi Mom, Dad," he says, and sits between their graves in the damp grass. "I was at the house today. I talked to Laura." He still struggles with this sometimes, these conversations with dead people. Some part of him expects them to answer back and is always a little heartbroken when they don't.

"I think I'm going to redo the house. They'll have to bulldoze it, but there's nothing salvageable there." He loses his uncertainty the more he talks. It turns out he has ideas about what the new house should look like; apparently the plan has been marinating in his brain for longer than he realized. "And I'm gonna open up the basement and make it more of a training room. We can still block it off from the rest of the house if we have to lock someone up on the full moon, but it'll be more multi-purpose than before."

It hits him like a punch to the gut when he realizes he's been talking about the house for ten minutes, growing more excited as each idea passes his lips, only to get no response. He should know this by now, you can't have real conversations with the dead. Something clenches in his chest.

"There's another reason I'm here." He takes a deep breath. "Um, I'm a little gay?" God, he sounds like an idiot. "I mean, you can't really be a little gay, that's ridiculous. But—" he goes on to tell them about how he's always been attracted to women, but he's been attracted to men for just as long. He told Laura ages ago; once it was just the two of them there was no room for secrets. Laura suspected their parents knew but were waiting for Derek to talk to them about it first, and that's really why he's doing this now.

While he never believed his family would disapprove of his orientation, some part of him was always worried about "coming out." It was silly. With Laura as the alpha-in-line, she would carry on the family name, so it wasn't as if he was responsible for conceiving pups, creating a long line of Hales to carry on the name and strengthen the pack. It was just one of those low-grade worries all children have about familial acceptance. Now that everyone is gone, acceptance isn't exactly an issue. Now he's just trying to communicate.

When he finally leaves the cemetery, it's with a lightness he hasn't experienced in recent memory. 

\---

Isaac is at the loft when he gets back. He's sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of mail next to him, and he smells nervous.

"You got mail."

"Okay."

"Um, I accidentally opened it," Isaac says and hands over a large envelope. "Sorry."

Derek stares at the return address, the intricate insignia on the upper left hand corner. He applied months ago on a whim, but had forgotten all about it.

"I didn't realize you'd applied," Isaac says, his voice low, modulated as though he's talking to a wild animal. "I thought it was mine at first."

He doesn't take the envelope from Isaac, just stares. Everyone knows the rule. If it's light, just a letter, you didn't get in, so there's no need to even open it. If it's heavy, it's full of institutional information, campus maps, student organizations, registration information.

Isaac drops the envelope to the table with a _thunk_.

"Congratulations, man," he says, and slaps Derek on the back as he walks out of the kitchen.

\---

“I’m going out tonight.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Umm, I mean, I’m going to a club.” Christ, this shouldn’t be this hard.

“Okayyy,” Isaac’s brow furrows in confusion. “Do you want me to clear out for the night? Give you some privacy?” He smirks.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Jesus, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I just,” he pauses. “I was thinking of going to The Jungle.” His heart feels like it’s in his throat, it makes him choke on the words.

Isaac quirks an eyebrow. “You know that’s a gay club, right?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pit in his stomach, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

“That’s cool.” Isaac shrugs. “Thanks for telling me.”

Derek nods, like it’s nothing. He’s not sure what he expected but he didn’t think it would be that… easy.

“You know it doesn’t matter to me if you’re gay, right?”

“I’m not—”

Isaac waves him off.

“Bi, whatever, it doesn’t actually change anything about who you are, Derek.”

“I know.” Isaac’s skeptical snort is enough of an answer. “Theoretically,” Derek amends.

Isaac smiles at him and Derek can’t help but smile back.

“You want me to call Stiles over so he can give you some pointers? I’m not convinced anyone’s ever touched his dick, but Erica says his gay porn collection is _staggering_.”

He’s laughing too hard to dodge the pillow Derek throws at his head.

\---

That he can hear the music of the club clearly from four blocks away does not bode well. Once inside, the bass line is so loud he can barely make out the lyrics of whatever over-processed technopop song the DJ is playing. Vapor from the fog machine clouds his vision, and the scents of sweat and too much cologne are sharp in his nose and the back of his throat.

He heads up to the bar and orders a whiskey neat and a beer back. One won't get him drunk, but when he and Laura were in New York, they'd do half a dozen in a row to get a buzz on, so it's a comforting ritual.

He sits with his back to the bar and watches the dance floor. It’s a sea of skin and sweat, groping hands, and twisting, bending bodies, bouncing as one to the overpowering bass.

For the first time in many years, Derek feels like he can just _look_. Despite the overwhelming sounds and smells, it’s a freeing idea. It’s hard to focus on any one body—the dance floor is a mass of barely-clothed limbs. His eyes bounce from muscled biceps to strong shoulders to slim, swaying hips.

There’s a pair of men at the edge of the crowd, pressed together, moving as one, unaware of or uncaring for their surroundings or their audience. Their thighs are parted, each with one leg between the other’s and they grind to the beat of the music.

Derek can't take his eyes off the ass of the man facing away from him. He's got two substantial handfuls in those jeans, and the jeans only accentuate what must be solid muscle underneath.

The man facing Derek’s direction leans down to lick a long line up his companion’s throat, making his head fall back. Derek can only imagine the way that feels. The strength and thickness of another man’s thigh pressed between his, holding him up; strong hands grabbing his ass to pull him in harder; stubble and hot breath against his skin as he bares his throat in ecstasy, rather than submission.

The song changes to something low and sensual, with a pulsing beat that sends shivers down Derek’s spine.

The guy whose ass he’s been unable to ignore turns in his partner’s arms, grinding back against his undoubtedly hard dick.

Derek swears he can feel it against his own crotch—the heat and pressure of firm flesh pressing back against him. He would grab those hips and pull the man against him, pressing his dick against his ass, fucking him through his clothes, a prelude to what could come later.

Tan skin catches his eye as the man’s partner slips one hand under his shirt, revealing an amazingly toned stomach. The man’s other hand goes low, dipping three fingers under the waistband of his briefs.

The man Derek’s been watching has his head thrown back in pleasure, one arm raised over his head, fingers threading through his partner’s hair. His triceps flex with the movement, and his sleeves are short enough to reveal a glimpse of hair under his arm. Derek wants to bury his face in there just to get at his concentrated scent.

His eyes flick to the man’s face, which to this point had been obscured, and Derek catches a glimpse of white teeth and dimples before he realizes he’s been caught staring and—

Fuck.

He knows that face.

Danny is looking right at him. There's no mistaking it. Derek doesn't even do the standard look over the shoulder to make sure there's no one behind him. Danny is watching Derek watch him. And Derek can't look away.

Danny's hooded gaze pins him to the spot.

In that moment, it's like the rest of the room ceases to exist. Abstractly, Derek knows the music is still blasting, people are still dancing, getting off with one another, tasting, touching, nearly fucking. But he can't move for the look in Danny's eyes. He's naked and _wanted_ and so fucking turned on.

His dance partner tips Danny's head to the side and presses his mouth to the juncture of Danny's neck and shoulder, and by the looks of it, proceeds to suck a hickey into Danny's neck. Danny's head drops back and his mouth opens in a moan Derek swears he can feel across the room. His eyes close, breaking the agonizingly arousing eye contact they've been maintaining and Derek finally feels like he can move again.

He bolts.

\---

There's a note from Isaac on the fridge when he gets back that just says _"At Scott's."_ Even though he told Isaac he wasn't going to bring anyone home, he's thankful now for the privacy. He guzzles a bottle of water to wash the taste of liquor from his mouth before heading upstairs to wash the stink of the club off of his body.

For a few long minutes he just stands under the spray of the shower, letting the warm water soothe and calm him.

Eventually, he picks up the soap and starts actively washing the smell of the club out of his skin. Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander, allows himself to imagine that they're someone else's hands roaming over his body. Someone else pinching his nipple to full hardness, running down his abs, maybe dipping a tongue into his navel. It's another man that wraps long, soapy fingers around his dick.

The _someone_ in his mind changes to Danny at some point, and he remembers how Danny's movements were fluid and sensual without being obscene. He was totally uninhibited in his motions, the physical embodiment of the music. In his mind's eye, he sees Danny naked, in the shower with him, back to Derek's chest, rolling his hips the way he did on the dance floor. His willpower is nothing when faced with the image of Danny's nude ass rubbing up against his dick, and he comes with a stifled moan.

He climbs out of the shower and falls into bed, trying not to feel like a creeper for getting off to the image of someone he actually knows, and trying not to regret going to The Jungle.

Everything is fine.

He is kind of out of the the big bi closet and he basically didn't have to do anything. Granted, he's only out to the handful of people who might have recognized him at the club, but the Hales have always been more well known than they wanted.

\---

His alarm wakes him again the next morning. He didn't go to bed all that late the night before, despite his adventures in clubbing, so he feels oddly well-rested.

\---

Derek settles in his favorite chair with a cup of coffee and his laptop a few days after the night at The Jungle. He's been fighting with a company for upwards of six months now on a refund for a faulty part he bought for the Camaro. He'd written it off a week or so prior as a lost cause, realizing that he'd spent more time fighting over the part than it was actually worth, so he's surprised to find an email from the customer service manager offering him an apology and a full refund. He doesn't need the money, but it does feel good to win one every once in a while.

Most of his email is junk, like usual, but there's one that doesn't look like spam, even though it's from an address he doesn't recognize. It turns out to be from an advisor from the community college suggesting they meet before he registers for classes. After a brief google search to ensure this is a real person and not some sort of prank, he responds and schedules an appointment. Then he shuts his laptop.

He has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he's missing something. It's too quiet. Things are going too well...

Isaac isn't home, no one's heard from Peter in a couple weeks—and with Peter, it's a definite case of no news being good news—and he hasn't seen a dead body in... a surprisingly long time. Derek's not quite sure what to do with this bizarre calm.

He goes for a run.

\---

Derek seems to develop a new routine over the next few days. Sleeping through the night, waking with the alarm, forgoing his usual cup of coffee and taking the time for a long run. He feels rested and energized and _ready_ for the first time in a long while.

\---

There's a voicemail waiting for him when he gets home from his run one morning.

_"Hey Derek, it's Vince. I talked to Ed and he's got time to take you on. Give me a call when you get in and we'll figure out your schedule."_

What?

He doesn't realize he's frozen in place with the phone still up to his ear until it rings directly into his eardrum. He nearly claws the thing open, it startles him so much.

Stiles talks his ear off for a solid five minutes before realizing Derek clearly isn't paying attention.

"You okay, man? You haven't grunted as much as you normally do when I'm talking."

"Yeah," he replies hesitantly.

"Oh shit, what's up?" Stiles asks, voice pitching up in alarm. "What's wrong?"

Derek blinks absently.

"I... I just got a job."

"Oh, is that all?" Stiles asks, clearly relieved.

Stiles always says the sweetest things. It does manage to break Derek out of his daze, though.

"Thanks for your support, as always, Stiles."

He and Stiles have had their fair share of issues throughout the years, but they've come to grudgingly accept and respect each other. They still manage to annoy the ever-loving fuck out of one another on a regular basis, but they work well together when it counts. Stiles is willing to challenge Derek where his betas are not, and he's damn good at chasing down vital information. He's talked Derek down from unnecessary confrontation a fair number of times, too.

"Oh, shit. No, I mean, that's really exciting, Derek. I just thought you were going to tell me you'd been wolf-napped or someone died or we had to deal with fucking trolls again or something. A job is seriously awesome. What is it?"

"Vince is letting me apprentice at the shop."

"I didn't know you knew anything about cars. I thought the Camaro was Laura's."

Her name still sends a thrill of hurt straight through his heart. Though lately it's less guilt and more absence and nostalgia. That's largely due to Stiles as well.

"It was Laura's, but I don't see what one thing has to do with the other. Our dad taught us about cars when we were growing up. We both worked on and off in a shop in New York before coming back to Beacon Hills."

"Does this mean you'll fix the Jeep for free now?"

"No."

"Thanks man, I feel the love." He's glad he can't see Stiles right now, though he knows Stiles is rolling his eyes.

"Any time."

Something about saying it out loud, talking about his new job makes the whole thing more real. Holy shit, he has a _job_. One that interests him. One that he knows he can excel at. Whoa.

"By the way, Divine said she saw you at The Jungle the other night. What's going on? You need me to do some recon for you?"

Derek sighs but reminds himself that this is what he wanted. He wanted to be seen. That was the whole purpose of going to the club. Mostly.

"I wasn't there for recon."

"Oh, why were you there then?"

If only Stiles could see his face right now. He doesn't answer, but can practically hear the gears turning in Stiles' head.

"Oh," he says quietly. "Oh! Oh."

Derek can't help but laugh. 

"Always eloquent when it counts, Stilinski."

"Fuck you, man," he says, but there's no real anger behind it. "Well, if you ever need a wingman--"

"I'll call Danny," he interrupts without thinking.

"Ouch. I see how it is."

\---

He's running the borders with his headphones in when one of the songs he watched Danny dance to comes on.

Immediately Derek is transported to the club. The smell of sweaty men thick in his nose, and the memory of bodies pressed together as fresh as when he'd first walked in.

His heartbeat stutters as he remembers the brief view of Danny's stomach he'd gotten, before he knew it was Danny. It was tan and toned, the epitome of washboard abs, and Derek wanted to lick it.

Derek can practically feel the blood deserting his brain as he thinks about covering that strong, flat stomach with his mouth, tracing the contours of those muscles with his tongue. He has to stop running, catching himself on a tall oak on the edge of his property. Leaning on the huge tree for stability, he palms his dick through his shorts. He hasn't jacked off with intent since the night after the club, but there's no way he can run back downtown with his shorts tenting.

He imagines stripping Danny's shirt off and laying him out on a flat surface before him--bed, couch, forest floor, it doesn't matter--with Derek standing over him. Danny keeps moving, undulating his hips to the beat in Derek's ears, and it's too much. Derek's hand flies over his cock, devoid of nuance or technique, until he comes, closing his eyes and imagining his come painting irregular white stripes across Danny's stomach and chest.

\---

It's been a week since the club. A week since he came out to Isaac and Danny and whoever else might have seen him there. No one has died or been kidnapped. Mercifully, Stiles offered only once to share pieces of his gay porn collection for Derek's "education". There's no Peter to snark at him and he hasn't been visited by the ghosts of a disappointed family. Maybe Beacon Hills cares less about his sexual identity than he'd originally thought.

\---

After another few days—days filled with actual intellectual stimuli thanks to his new job and school prep—he thinks maybe it's time to give The Jungle another shot. There are better ways of meeting dating candidates, but he's self-aware enough to know he's not looking for that yet.

He's basically rubbed himself raw thinking about Danny this week. Derek realizes he's fixating, but the club should help with that. He can find some guy to pound into the mattress (or vice versa) and get Danny out of his head. Not that Danny isn't great, he's just... unlikely.

\---

The smells and sounds of The Jungle aren't quite as offensive, now that he knows what to expect. The scent of sweaty men is actually rather appealing, especially combined with all of the bare flesh in sight.

Foregoing drinks this time, he skirts the edge of the dance floor. He's not quite sure what he's looking for, so he just looks. Almost everyone is paired off, though there are quite a few threesomes--and doesn't that look enticing. It's just so uninhibited. It doesn't seem to matter if you're dancing with someone or not, everyone is touching and being touched and letting their hands roam without restraint or prejudice.

It doesn't take long before he feels a presence at his side. He plays it cool, keeping his attention on the dance floor and the threesome pressed close to one another, feeling each other up indiscriminately.

Danny doesn't say anything, perhaps sensing Derek's unease. After a few moments wherein Derek tries to think of something to say that doesn't sound like a cheesy pickup line, Danny finishes his drink and nudges Derek's shoulder. Derek looks at him for the first time. He's got that perfect, bright, dimpled smile on his face, and it sets Derek at ease immediately. He knows Danny only by reputation, and that one unfortunate meeting in Stiles' bedroom, but he's disarming in an honest way. Danny tips his head towards the dance floor and Derek nods, then follows his lead.

They push their way through the crowd, through slick, writhing bodies. By the time the fourth person gropes Derek's ass, he's not quite surprised, though it's still a little disconcerting. Finally, Danny turns and steps in close to Derek. The crowd closes in around them, forcing them together. Danny rests his arms loosely around Derek's shoulders and starts moving to the beat, rolling his hips, and swaying rhythmically.

Derek can't get comfortable. His feet are made of lead and he has no rhythm. His palms are sweating and everyone is staring at him. They know he's an imposter. There's no way he belongs here.

Strong hands grip his hips, and there's a hot breath on his neck.

"Relax, man," Danny whispers. "You're so tense."

There's no judgment in Danny's voice, and that helps break Derek out of his stupor. Danny's not trying to force him to do anything—not like he could, anyway—he just wants to dance. With Derek. With no ulterior motive or agenda. Dancing at a club with a guy is hardly on the list of life-threatening situations he's faced in the last year—or, really, his whole life—so he really just needs to chill.

He moves awkwardly at first, he's sure Danny can feel his hesitance, see it in his eyes, but then Danny turns around and backs up into Derek like he did with that other guy the night Derek first saw him at The Jungle. Derek closes his eyes and lets the music take over his mind. He lets the beat flow through him, lets the bass beat in his bones. He puts one hand on Danny's hip, letting Danny's movements guide his own and just _lets go_.

\---

It's a bit of a shock to his system when Derek finds himself standing outside Danny's apartment a few short blocks from the club, waiting in the cool night air for Danny to open the building door. It felt like they danced for hours, and once Derek was able to relax and focus on the body before him rather than the people around him, he actually had a good time. It didn't hurt one bit that Danny was sexy as fuck and Derek could smell his arousal.

When Danny takes his hand, Derek follows him inside.

\---

Sex with Danny isn't earth-shattering. It's not life-changing or world-rocking. At least, not in the Hollywood romance way. But as he's filling Laura in on the last couple weeks of his life, it occurs to Derek that sex with Danny is the first time he's actually had _fun_ in bed. With Kate it was all about power (her) and puppy love (him). With the anonymous hookups throughout the years it was just about sexual release. Jennifer was the first time he was the one using sex as a weapon and that fucked with his head almost as much as his relationship with Kate.

In stark contrast to all of those experiences, with Danny he'd fumbled through foreplay, actually giggled at the foreign sensation of Danny starting to finger him, and clawed through a condom when Danny made an offhand comment about werewolf stamina. It was awkward at times, but he'd been completely at ease. He'd easily fallen asleep in Danny's bed, and they'd even showered together in the morning, Derek finally getting to feel another man's soapy hands on his body.

"It's not going to go anywhere, neither of us want that. But it was fun, Laur. He knows about me, so I didn't have to hide. He's really easy-going and smart as hell. I actually think he'd be perfect for Stiles if they didn't have all that high school history. But it was good." This is one of those times that he really wishes Laura could talk back. He's not consumed by his grief, not at the moment, he just wants his sister. "He made me feel good," he whispers.

 _"You deserve it, Der,"_ he hears on the wind.

 _I think I might_ , he thinks to himself.


End file.
